


Of beasts and men

by justified_ways



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, werewolf!Daryl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justified_ways/pseuds/justified_ways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Daryl learns how hard it is to form a pack, and Rick discovers what it takes to be an alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

 

The CDC smells of death and chemicals. It hangs in the air, sharp and stinging. He can’t imagine the others not smelling it. The foul stench of old blood makes him sick to the stomach. It’s all over the chairs, on the floor, clinging to the computer consoles. He can tell exactly who died where, who went easy by the lingering blood spatters and who went hard by the faded puddles.

The others don’t notice, of course. They pass by the scented graves, following the doctor into the tomb. He’s learned to keep his mouth shut about such things, only wipes the back of his hand over his nose to dispel the smell for mere seconds. His own scent has changed over the past months. Death clings to him too, to his hands from where he pulls bolts out of corpses, and his teeth from where he ripped heads clean off, but there’s still a trace of his old self. Cigarettes and alcohol linger beneath the surface, covering the even deeper smell that is just him.

He follows the others because there’s no other choice. Outside is death, with all those walkers prowling the perimeters, but this building is all locked doors and thick walls. He feels trapped. The woods seem too far away.

The hallway is too narrow. He hangs back, prowling behind his group, only half listening to Carol’s anxious enquiry about whether they’re underground. He knows they are. It resonates in his bones, too small spaces, the air too artificial, reused, recycled, in waves too cold on his skin.

Even the lure of hot water and food can’t make him feel more comfortable. The urge to shift is only pushed aside because there’s booze and laughter, small moments of joy as he lifts the bottle and eats his fill. The wolf inside him growls and purrs in turn, angry about being locked away and happy that his group is safe for now.

To ease the animal inside him, he trails his hands over the walls, leaving his own scent as he walks through the complex. He marks the spot on the counter as his and claims the bottle, hogging it even though he shares the content. And while the others lose focus, eyes becoming dulled by alcohol and a false sense of security, he keeps watch. The booze doesn’t affect him as much as it does Glenn or T-dog and he doesn’t drink bottle after bottle like Shane.

When the impromptu party ends and everyone finds a room, he circles the main hall.

‘This is the biggest room we have,’ Jenner says in the doorway, illuminated by the fading light of Vi. ‘But the entrance hall has windows. I ran the bloodwork. You’re the only one who is infected.’

The hunter scoffs, looking down at the ground, ‘ain’t _infected_. Was born this way.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Gonna dissect me now? Or later?’

Jenner nods and gives him a little half-smile, ‘maybe later. I’ve got a more pressing infection to worry about. I don’t mind if you shift, just don’t wander into the research areas; you might shag on my samples.’

Daryl lifts his chin higher and glares at the doctor.

Jenner meets the gaze for a second and then looks away, ‘good night, Daryl.’

‘Night, doc.’ He listens to the fading footsteps until they go silent behind closed doors. If he’d strain, he would be able to hear his group members, and Jenner too, but for now he’s content with the knowledge that they’re safe and accounted for.

The main area smells too much like death for him to be able to sleep comfortably. He prowls around, hands lingering on corners as he scents his new territory, hoping to dispel some of the decay before he wanders out into the entrance hall.

The windows are massive but the view is disheartening. Walkers roam over the grass before the building, feasting on rotting corpses of fallen soldiers. Eyes glint in the near-darkness. He can sense them, even if he can’t smell them through the thick glass. The moon gives his metal surroundings a strange glimmer. Steel kisses his skin as he sinks down on the stairs, staring at the shadows of walkers outside.

He lights a cigarette just to have something to do.

In the darkness, he waits until the last showers are turned off and people go to bed. A final door closes somewhere down a hall with an echoing thud.

He takes a last drag and ends the cigarette on the floor. It leaves a faint burn mark on the metal, just ashes, really, nothing that won’t fade in time.

Then he strips.

It’s not that he hates changing around his new group, all of them have already seen him as feral, powerful jaws snapping at walkers and the rumble of his growl resonating in their minds and bones as they fought off the attack on the camp. But still, humans are fickle creatures, their allegiances as quickly broken as they’re made. They might be his group now, when he still has use as deterrent and protector, but in a safe-zone there’s not much value in an unpredictable group member.

He’s seen the way Dale looks at him, with a mixture of fear and horror, or Shane, who just sees teeth and claws.

It doesn’t matter. They’re not his pack. He doesn’t owe them anything.

The shift comes as soon as he toes off his last sock. It rolls through his body, burns through his bones until he falls onto all fours. It doesn’t hurt, not really. Maybe it just happens too quickly for that.

His senses shift. Keen eyes scan their new surroundings, nails scraping over metal as he stretches. The windows catch his reflection. He’s an auburn shadow with golden eyes. Teeth flash as he yawns, a red tongue lolling out for a second before he snaps his jaws together with an audible click.

With his nose and teeth, he nudges and tucks his clothes into a corner, below the stairs. There, he pads around for a few seconds, making sure his scent is strong around his make-shift den before he curls up. His ears swivel, twitching as they catch the sound of a door opening and closing, footsteps retreating to another room before another door is slammed shut.

He falls asleep with only the distant sound of walkers in his ears.

 

The sound of approaching footsteps wake the wolf. Golden eyes crack open to tired slits as he squints against the sunlight. The walkers have dispersed overnight; the grounds before him are silent and still. Triangular ears swivel again, catching the footfalls as they come closer.

He gets up. One of his paws is tangled in his shirt, nails tugging at the fabric as he shakes it off. He kicks it back on the pile before slinking out from under the staircase and stretching. A yawn escapes him, lips pulling back from his teeth and exposing white fangs and red gums.

‘Good morning.’

Golden eyes snap to Rick, who’s approaching. The human language is a muddle in the wolf’s brain, barely registering when he isn’t paying attention, but he catches the meaning all the same. He huffs, bristles a bit, tail snapping back and forth.

The former sheriff’s steps are measured, slow and unsure. His body language is a strange mixture of dominance and submission. The eyes burn into Daryl, trying to catch the wolf’s gaze, but his head is cocked to the side, ear almost meeting shoulder. It puts Daryl on edge. It doesn’t help that the cop rests his hand on his revolver, fingers tracing the weapon, ready to draw.

Rick stinks of _fear_.

It doesn’t surprise Daryl, most people do when crossing paths with a werewolf after all.

He slows his tail and makes sure to cover his teeth.

‘T-dog is making breakfast,’ Rick says, slowly and clearly. He stops a few feet away from the wolf. After a couple of seconds, he sinks to one knee so he doesn’t tower over the animal. ‘Eggs, I think.’ He laughs a bit, nervous and probably wondering whether Daryl can understand him at all. His head is still to the side, exposing his neck. ‘Want some?’

Daryl shakes his body, fur ruffling, and then stretches once more, pushing his front paws forward and his back high into the air before growling contently.

Rick flinches at the sound.

A lazy ear swivels into his direction as Daryl licks his muzzle, blood-red tongue over dark fur and white teeth. Then the wolf shifts. In a second, he’s a man reaching for the pile of clothing underneath the stairs. He pushes his hair out of his face before tugging his pants up, snapping the belt closed.

The nudity doesn’t bother him, even though he makes sure not to turn his back to the other man. The wolf might be proud of the scars; _strength, endurance, bravery_ , but he only feels judgement and shame in human form.

He glances at Rick.

Rick, who hasn’t gotten up yet. Rick, who’s still got his head cocked to the side.

‘What’re ya doin’?’ Daryl asks before he can stop himself.

‘Uh,’ Rick starts, looking a bit sheepish, ‘I- I, uh,’ then he laughs again, all nerves and fear, ‘honestly? I don’t know. Read somewhere that it’s best to keep low and, you know, show your neck.’

Daryl frowns as he stomps his boots on. The wolf in him dismisses the sheriff immediately. _Weak_. The immediate submission disgusts him, but he knows that most humans would act the same way. It’s taught in schools as a survival tactic, to submit to any shifted werewolf before they force it with teeth and claws.

‘I’ve never met a werewolf before.’

That attracts Daryl’s attention, though he doesn’t show it. He grabs his gun and knife, putting both on his belt. It’s hardly surprising for Rick, a small-town cop, to have never crossed paths with a werewolf before. Their numbers aren’t particularly small, but many of his kind prefer to live by themselves or anonymously among one-skinners. Ever since the forced registration was abolished, their numbers are nothing but guesses and speculation.

‘I’m out of my depth here,’ Rick admits. ‘Don’t want to offend.’

It is surprising, however, that he willingly admits ignorance. Shane, too, doesn’t know what he’s doing when Daryl is around. His chin is always too high, his touches all wrong and unwelcome and body language accidentally hostile. By now, he’s learned to ignore most human signs. They hardly ever mean what they project.

‘Ain’t that easily offended,’ Daryl answers as he reaches for his shirt, a small glance at the cop. ‘Get up. Tuck your chin in, don’t want your neck.’

Rick gets up, joints cracking. ‘thought it was best to submit, considering. That’s how, right? Exposing your neck?’

Daryl shrugs his shirt on, buttoning it up before brushing past the cop. ‘What do you want?’ he asks in passing. ‘Werewolf 101, or breakfast?’

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

One of the most frustrating things is, according to Daryl, the fact that he and his wolf don’t always agree on certain matters.

He is not a mindless animal. During his shifts, he keeps his human mind, recognizing people and places, forming thoughts and experiencing feelings just like he would in his human-skin but the wolf is always there. It lurks in his instincts. A shadow of the wild in his movements, thoughts and heart. Together, they truly are a force of nature. Human wit and animal strength, combined in a lethal combination.

But the animalistic instincts also tear them apart.

Sophia wasn’t pack. None of his group were.

When she disappeared in the woods, Daryl knew he had to go after her. But the wolf was less convinced. The scent of deer and rabbits were deemed much more promising, his mind electrifying with _hunt_ instead of _search_. He tried to reel the animal in, make it see sense, reason with it until their minds were a confused muddle of duty and instincts.

In the end, he’d kept his human-skin. He’s a fine hunter in either form, of course. His brother had seen to that, at least. There’s no use in speculating now. He might have found her if he could have relied on scent rather than trace, but the water might had dispelled either. It doesn’t matter. She’s gone now, buried deep in the earth.

The wolf doesn’t mourn. And Daryl pretends not to.

Sophia wasn’t his, after all.

 

The farm isn’t part of his territory. His own pack-lands are a vague memory, the scent almost lost on him now that he has wandered so far from home. This new land might not be claimed, but it is owned. He recognizes Hershel’s ownership by not meeting his eyes and greeting him in his human-skin even though the new territory reeks of game and chances. To shift on the farm’s land could be considered a challenge and with their group so fragile after the loss, he doesn’t want to risk it.

So he wears his human-skin even though it sets his teeth on edge. The area around his tent is only marked because of his equipment and restless pacing, not because he claimed it, so it feels all wrong beneath his booted feet.

The others seem to pick up on his agitation. They avoid him most of the time, except for Carol who’s crawling out from under her husband’s shadow and now dares to bare her teeth at him, not offering her neck so readily, though she probably doesn’t recognize she’s defying him.

Carl sometimes sneaks close. Children are always fascinated by things they don’t understand and the werewolf is not only confusing but also dangerous. Double the fun, in innocent eyes. Lori tries to keep him away, urging him to stay indoors, but really, that kid is all Rick and too stubborn.

Shane only comes when he needs muscles, though he sometimes looks like he’d rather have the teeth protecting his group than the crossbow. He should know by now that both are lethal.

No-one ever asks why he hasn’t shifted in weeks. Or why he’s so angry.

Not until Rick stops by.

The sheriff doesn’t look as nervous as he did the first time he came to visit Daryl’s den. His hands are swinging by his side, only coming to rest upon his hips when he stops just at the edge of the wolf’s grounds. It’s a pathetic couple of feet around the tent, but it’s something.

Daryl is sitting in the entrance of his tent, shoulders hunched as he carves wood with his knife. He doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s Rick. He can smell him. But humans always need confirmation, not understanding the way Daryl had lowered his shoulders slightly in recognition.

‘What do you want, officer?’ he rumbles.

‘Just came to see how you were getting on.’

It’s not a lie. Daryl glances up at the other man, a scowl on his face.

‘I’m fine.’

Rick takes a couple of steps forward, nodding as he looks out over their lands. He stops right in front of Daryl, towering over him. ‘I noticed you haven’t been shifting lately. Something wrong?’

The fact that Daryl needs to lift his chin in order to see the other man causes his skin to itch. The mention of shifting rekindles the urge to, and now, with this one-skin leaning over him, he nearly snarls.

‘Ain’t nothing wrong,’ he grinds out. ‘’s not my land, is all. Don’t want to cause no trouble.’

‘What do you mean? Hershel invited us to stay.’

Daryl is up in flash, bared teeth and challenging body language. He gets up close to the sheriff, right into his face, posturing. ‘And then he told you that we’d best be gone! Don’t think I didn’t hear!’ The fact that he’s back on eye-level with the other man calms his nerves a bit. He leans away, giving the human some space as he can hear Rick’s heartbeat thunder in his own ears. _Fear_. Not as strong as when they met but still there.

‘What’s going on here?’ Rick shifts his weight, unsure, and looks confused. ‘I waited for your permission before stepping into your space, right?’ He looks around as if he can see a physical boundary. ‘What’s got you mad all of a sudden?’

Daryl just looks at him.

‘It’s no surprise, Hershel sending us away, so… what did I do?’

The human sounds curious. Daryl huffs a little, crossing his arms and glowering at the ground. His ears grow hot. ‘You were towerin’ over me, is all. Doesn’t matter,’ he pointedly sits down again.

‘Oh, shit, sorry.’ Rick gives him a sheepish look, ‘too busy tucking in my chin and trying to figure out your space to think of that.’

‘’s all right. Most one-skins don’t.’

The name is generally considered a rude slur, but Rick seems to take it in stride. He looks out over the farmlands. ‘Hershel’s just looking out for his family.’

Daryl grunts, driving his knife in the wood.

‘I can talk to him about you shifting here.’

‘Do what you want, don’t care.’

‘Hey,’ Rick squats down so they’re level. ‘I know I’m a slow one-skinner, okay? But I could really use some pointers here. You’ve looked out for my family, I just… Thank you.’

Daryl scoffs and kicks one leg out, claiming more space, ‘whatever you think you owe me, you don’t. They just crossed our path, we decided to stick around.’

‘I’m sorry about what happened to Merle.’

‘You should be.’

The sheriff nods. He rubs at his jaw before sitting down on the ground. Wary eyes regard Daryl as if he might suddenly shift and take a bite out of him. After a couple of seconds, he relaxes more, shoulders dropping and hand sliding away from his gun. ‘Was it just you and Merle then? I thought… Well, don’t you have a… a pack?’

‘Had Merle,’ Daryl answers gruffly, ‘now I don’t.’

The accusation hangs heavily between them.

Rick decides to soldier on. ‘But Merle wasn’t a… he wasn’t like you, right? I thought all packs consisted of only werewolves.’

The blue eyes narrow, ‘he was _blood_.’ He rubs a hand over his nose, ‘means he was pack.’ He sucks on his teeth for a moment, eyes shifty. ‘My old man was a were. The gene passed Merle so dad kicked him out, send him away to lick his wounds somewhere else. Came back after a couple of stints in jail. Was fuckin’ pissed when he found out I got it.’

Rick laughs softly at that. ‘He came ‘round when you mauled him a bit?’

Daryl looks at the sheriff but there’s only amusement in his expression. He smells like teasing. So he allows a flicker of a smile to pass his features in return. ‘Nah. Saw the benefits of having a little ball of fur and teeth following him around, I suppose. It was just us, after a while. A couple of strays sometimes, but…’ He shakes his head and inspects his knife, ‘just us.’

Rick is silent.

The hunter tilts his head, eyeing him, ‘what?’

‘That’s the most you’ve said to me in… ever.’

‘Don’t go moondrunk on it, officer,’ Daryl says, biting back a tiny grin.

‘I won’t,’ Rick laughs, shaking his head. ‘Why aren’t you shifting?’

‘Not my land,’ Daryl repeats. Rick lifts an eyebrow, showing he doesn’t understand. ‘Could be seen as a challenge, me shifting in his pack-lands,’ Daryl murmurs. ‘He’d kick us out even faster. One-skins don’t like us much, if you hadn’t realized.’

‘I’ll talk to him.’ The cop promises.

Another set of footfalls approaches. Shane. He looks agitated, muscles tense and eyes dark. He smells of Lori.

Daryl ducks his head and bites his tongue.

‘Hey brother,’ Shane greets Rick. He ignores Daryl completely. ‘Hershel needs us for something. He’s at the house.’

‘Okay,’ Rick nods, getting up. ‘Thanks, Daryl.’

The hunter hums and watches how Shane already stalks away. The angry movements in his shoulders, the rigid spine, hand rubbing his neck.

The cop turns on his heels.

’Rick,’ Daryl calls out when he’s a couple of feet away. He turns at his name. Daryl rubs at his nose, scratches at his cheek and then hunches slightly. ‘Watch your back.’

Rick looks at him for a couple of moments. And then nods.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

 

The permission comes in the form of Herself telling him not to scare the cattle.

It’s late in the afternoon when he shifts. The sun is dying behind the farm, light chasing it over the horizon. The world turns gray and black around him. His clothes are abandoned near the fence which marks the end of Hershel’s claim to the land. He melts into his second skin, bones cracking and rearranging, until he lands on four paws.

The new land behind him is full of new scents, _old wood, people, waste, paint, chickens, horses, wet earth, motor oil, electricity, fire, gas, mud, hay, horses, detergent_ , but the wolf has little patience for human reminders after being locked away for such a long time. Instead, Daryl slinks off into the woods. There, at least, he’s free to roam as he pleases.

The trees flash by as he breaks into a run. Paws digging into the warm earth, his thick fur ruffled by the wind. He lets his tongue lull out, can already taste the game in his mouth. Rabbits, mostly, which he chases just for the fun of it. They escape because he allows them to, rejoicing in their scent before picking up something much more interesting.

Shoulders low and paws silent, he creeps through the bushes until he gets to a high ridge from where he can see a large patch of open grass. Deer graze lazily, unaware of the predator looming over them.

_Hunt_ , the wolf says.

_Prey_ , Daryl agrees.

With his crossbow, he could have shot one from here, but the wolf needs to get close, up close and all over and teeth sinking in until there’s no heartbeat between his jaws, until blood runs down his throat, until the moon claims another victim.

Nerves tingling, they slink down the ridge, hiding in shadows until the wind betrays them and then… then it’s thundering paws and snarls, vicious teeth and the scent of fear and death mingling all around him. He dodges desperate kicks, ducks around trees, hunts and hunts and hunts until the deer, stupid, stupid, stupid, makes the fetal mistake of banking left. Daryl lunges and the wolf finishes it in a silent move.

Blood spurts into his mouth, hot and thick on his tongue. A body shocks beneath him, so full of desperate life, until he takes pity and locks his jaws. It’s still. He stands over his prize, so warm and his, and throws his head back.

He howls. But stops abruptly.

There’s no booming answer. No human voice coming from the woods, telling him to stop his posturing and _share, mut_ t, no scent of pride in the air. His brother, he realizes too late, is not coming to claim his kill this time.

The wolf bristles. But Daryl just noses at the deer listlessly. 

The hunt is over.

He gnaws at the neck for a second, tasting the blood but it instead of _sweet_ and _mine_ , it tastes of loss and the nagging start of guilt. Then, the wolf perks up a bit and Daryl agrees with its clever mind.

He shifts back to his human-skin, under the lurking moon too tight and cramped, but necessary. The farm is far and the deer heavy, but he manages to hoist it onto his bare shoulders. Blood drips over his back, runs down his side, but he ignores it as he starts walking.

The wolf grumbles but settles in his chest.

Daryl looks up at the moon, spits on the ground to get rid of the taste of death in his mouth and walks back to the farm.

 

Glenn is on watch and therefor spots him first. His voice is clear, even from this distance, and Daryl is grateful when he calls out for T-dog, Rick and Shane, strong men with stronger backs. He dumps the deer near the fence, stretching before grabbing his clothes. He’s putting his boots on when Shane jumps over the fence first, eyes wide.

‘Glenn said you… what the hell?’

Daryl snorts, pulling at his laces, ‘got us a deer. I’m not eating those damn beans tonight. I’m sick of them.’

‘You got us a deer.’

‘Ya deaf?’ Daryl grouses as he gets up, brushing dirt from his jeans and using his shirt to rub the blood off his shoulder. He glances at Rick, who jumps the fence next, landing smoothly while T-dog lumbers behind him. ‘Carried it back, caught it somewhere out west.’

‘You _carried_ it back?’ Shane echoes.

‘You gonna repeat everything I say?’ the hunter snarls, eyes glinting golden as he scowls. ‘Help me carry it.’

‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ Shane mumbles confusedly before he grabs the deer, hoisting it up so he can hand it over to T-dog. Then he jumps over again, helping the dark-skinned man carry it back to camp. They strain under the weight.

Daryl watches as they drag his kill away, the wolf bristling under his skin.

‘Thank you.’ Rick’s voice attracts his attention. The sheriff is looking at him. In the darkness of the outer fields, Daryl can only see glimmers of his eyes.

‘You’re welcome.’

Another glint, teeth, as Rick smiles, ‘want my neck now?’

Daryl snorts, ‘no. Come on, before they fuck up the skinning.’

They walk side by side through the fields. The wolf notices, perks up, whispers of pack-lands in its ears, but Daryl just busies himself with getting the blood off his skin. When they approach the camp, and the fire, he slips on his vest, hiding his back. The silvery lines on his stomach are still in full view, but that can’t be helped now he’s ruined his shirt.

He does most of the skinning, though T-dog is getting handy with the sharp knife too. When he’s done, the others gather the pieces.

‘Hold up,’ he says when Lori reaches for the best and biggest piece. ‘’s for Hershel.’

She looks a bit pained, ‘this one? We could give him-‘

‘ _That_ one,’ Daryl in a tone that implies; _my kill, my rules_. The wolf rumbles at that, happy. He grabs the piece before the others can snatch it and heads over to the farm. With his hands full, he kicks the door.

The little girl with blond hair answers, eyes widening at the sight of the fresh meat and mouth opening slightly.

‘Don’t catch no flies,’ he mumbles, ‘call your pops out for me.’

She does, summoning Hershel as she runs into the house, gathering her family and telling her about the redneck with his deer meat. He can hear her shrill voice in the background, can smell the growing excitement in the home.

Hershel smiles when he comes to the door. ‘Hello, Daryl.’

He nods, eyes darting away, ‘got you a piece.’

‘That’s very nice of you.’

‘It was yours. The deer,’ he says after a beat, ‘it was yours.’

Hershel calls his oldest daughter over, the one who smells like Glenn, and she takes the meat with a quiet thank you, and carries it inside. ‘It will make a good meal for my family. Thank you.’

Daryl bites his nail, glancing up at the old man before ever so slightly cocking his head to the side.

The gaze softens a bit. ‘Enjoy your kill, Daryl.’

The wolf purrs at that and the man turns abruptly on his heels before stomping off.

 

It’s been several moons since the group has been this relaxed. The air smells of roasted deer, comfort and happiness, with only a tinge of desperation surrounding them.

Daryl watches his group. He even smirks a little when Andrea sneers something crude at Glenn, who blushes fiercely while Dale tries to make peace amidst the chaos of family. Shane needles T-dog, who claims to be a better cook than the former cop.

In truth, everyone has to agree, but everyone tries to please Shane. Only Rick places a nasty comment, which has him on his ass seconds later, trying to buck his brother off of him.

Daryl laughs a little at that, shaking his head while sipping his water.

Rick’s kid, Carl, has the duty of dishing out the plates. He walks carefully over the uneven ground, eyes on the plate as he brings the first one to his father. The former cop is breathing heavily from his wrestling match with Shane, but puts a hand on his son’s shoulder, ‘take it to Daryl, Carl.’

The wolf growls in concurrence. Daryl just hunches his shoulders.

The kid eyes the werewolf before shuffling over. The group tenses slightly.

‘Sorry,’ Carl says softly, ‘here.’

‘Thanks, kid,’ he takes the plate, careful not to touch the small hands.

‘How did you catch it?’

Daryl looks up, frowning, ‘what? Just jumped it. Made a stupid mistake.’

‘As a wolf?’ Carl presses, ‘you jumped it as a wolf? Like you did with the walkers?’

‘Yup.’

‘Carl,’ Lori tries, ‘don’t bother him while he’s trying to eat.’

‘Yeah, beat it, kid,’ Daryl says as he moves to sit more comfortably, ‘or I’ll take a bite out of you instead.’

The young eyes go wide. Daryl cringes inwardly, smelling the instant fear in the mother, the alertness in Rick. He hunches more, making himself smaller, trying to convey that it was just a joke, a throw-away comment, they’d never hurt-

Carl’s face breaks out into a grin. ‘Can I see it sometime?’

‘See what?’

‘The wolf! I mean, I’ve _seen_ it, but never… never normally.’

All eyes are on him. Everyone is looking, wary, unsure, hesitant. Shane has his chin too high, and Lori is looking at Rick like he should intervene, but the former cop is just watching the scene between the werewolf and the child.

‘I guess. Hard to miss, really.’

Carl whoops and runs back to his mother to hand out more plates.

Daryl takes a quick bite from his meat before anyone else has a chance to start. It pleases the wolf inside his chest, who’s all warm and happy and content. Carol comes to sit beside him, a silent shadow on his right hand. He licks his fingers clean and leans back on his elbows, stretching but putting his knees up as a barrier.

Dale raises his plate at him in a silent thanks.

Daryl sets his jaw and nods.

 

The next day, he shifts near his tent. The wolf howls in his veins, eager to stretch its long legs, to really explore the forest now. It tugs at Daryl’s heartstrings, whining for the woods and its smells, but Daryl whispers in their ears.

He trots over to the edge of camp.

Rick is on guard duty, high up on the RV. He spots the wolf immediately, lowering his binoculars to look down at the animal.

Daryl pads around the vehicle, sniffing the ground and rustling his pelt.

The sheriff gives him a hesitant smile, throwing a look over his shoulder to where Carl is sitting with Lori.

Daryl stops his exploring and waits.

‘Carl,’ Rick calls out. ‘Look!’

The young boy looks up. And drops his pencil. He starts to get up, eyes wide and heart pounding. ‘Whoa! It’s _huge_!’

‘He,’ Lori corrects softly, but Daryl catches it. ‘ _He_ is huge.’

Carl nods and gets to his feet. Eagerness and fascination propels him forward.

Before the kid can get any ideas, Daryl turns on the spot, tail slashing, and runs off.


	4. Chapter 4

 

* * *

 

 

Of course it doesn’t escape Daryl’s notice that Rick starts choosing him as his wingman more and more. He often maneuvers just so, stepping sideways until Daryl is in his peripheral vision, glancing over his right shoulder to check on the archer’s position, slowing his step when he notices Daryl drifting away from the group to check on a set of tracks, how he just nods and thrusts Daryl to have the group’s back.

Daryl notices. And the wolf _howls_ in his veins.

 

Rick seeks him out more often now. He tries to make conversation but soon figures out that Daryl isn’t made for small talk. Asinine gossip won’t hold his interest and aimless talk about the weather will have him bare his teeth, even in his human-skin.

So instead they talk about their lives before the outbreak. How Rick had gone to college while Daryl hadn’t even finished high school. How Rick only ever had one job; a cop’s job, while Daryl had been a million different things, ranging from bartender to construction employee, and from gardener to mechanic. They talk about their families, Carl and Lori, about Merle, though Daryl cuts the conversation off when Rick tries to get information on his parents.

And more often than not, Rick pries about his other skin.

‘Your old man, was he bitten by a were?’ he asks one afternoon while looking out over the camp. They’re sitting in front of Daryl’s tent. The others are black shadows on the horizon, only recognizable due to height and way of walking. Glenn’s nervous skittering and Shane’s stalking against Andrea’s relaxed lope and Lori’s aimless wandering.

‘Nope.’ Daryl plucks at some grass. It stains his fingers. ‘Born.’

‘Ah,’ Rick says like he can deduce anything from that. ‘Does it… does it hurt?’

‘Being born?’

The sheriff snorts, shaking his head, ‘to _shift_. Does it hurt to shift?’

‘No.’

‘It looks painful.’

‘Well it ain’t.’

Rick nods and is quiet for a while. This, too, is improved behavior, Daryl thinks. They no longer need to talk every second of Rick’s little visits. The sheriff has learned to just sit and be, rather than trying to get the redneck to spill all his secrets in seconds. Sometimes he watches how Daryl does his laundry, cleans his bow, carves little wooden figurines, dozes in the sunshine, anything really, but most of the time he watches the group.

‘How do you decide who’s pack?’

Daryl frowns. The questions still throw him off sometimes. He’s never had to teach anyone anything about his life, not with Merle growing up around were’s and no-one else sticking around long enough to bother. It’s staggering, how much he takes for granted, or how much Rick doesn’t know. Or understand.

‘Dunno,’ the hunter shrugs when Rick looks at him for an answer. ‘Just know, I guess.’

‘Were your friends pack?’

‘No. I mean, some, sure. But not all.’

Rick smirks a little, ‘is it like a great honor? To be pack?’

Daryl rolls his eyes, ‘is it a great honor to be _family_? ‘s the same, ain’t it?’

‘You tell me.’

He can’t possibly be sure. Their old man had always told them that human-ties were weak and fickle, that their blood was lacking what bound them together as pack, and he’s heard many stories of people being cut off by their kin. For who or what they were, different, with their blood being unable to recognize that they _belonged_ , no matter appearances or personalities.

But he’s also heard of people creating families. Of chosen brothers and sisters, tied by nothing but experience and love, ties stronger than shared genes.

He guesses wolves are not that different, then. Wolf-packs are not bound by blood, though they are always born into one. No wolf ever stays because their brother or sister is theirs by nature. They often leave for their own benefit, weening away from the pack, getting used to the heart-break until it won’t shatter their souls when they eventually never return. They choose a new pack because it’s strong, or close, or convenient, or it has the luring promise of a mate, or all of the above.

But Daryl isn’t a wolf. Their dynamics might look the same to any one-skinner, but he knows the subtle difference in the way that he grew up knowing in his bones that Merle was _his_ , while his cousin was foreign and strange. So he knows the difference between family and pack. Kind of.

‘Dunno,’ he admits. ‘Never had no ordinary family. ‘s the same with you lot, I guess. Friends or family. Not-pack and pack ’

‘What about your mom? She wasn’t a were, right? Because Merle…’

‘Pack,’ is the clipped answer. ‘What about Shane?’

‘Family, so pack, I guess.’

Daryl bites on his thumb.

‘What?’ Rick asks with a lifted eyebrow.

‘Nothin’.’

‘Is pack, like, the same as… You have an alpha, right? Omega, beta, that kind of stuff?’

‘What is this? Twenty questions?’ Daryl grouses. It’s the sign that Rick is pushing it, coming too close too fast.

‘Then I still have about fifteen left,’ Rick grins but he looks away, showing that he’s not expecting an answer anymore.

‘You’re worse than your kid, man.’

The father looks at him and the amusement sours into hesitance and worry. ‘Has he been bothering you?’

‘No.’ Daryl knows that the world’s population is split into two kinds of people where his nature is concerned. Those who fear him and those who are fascinated. He’s never met anyone who simply didn’t care. The kid follows him around like a shadow, trying to be sneaky about it without realizing that Daryl can still smell the boy, even when he hides behind trees and tents. It’s innocent, he thinks, and there’s nothing to see. He goes around his business, does his chores and always makes sure the boy is not following him when he goes out to hunt. Sometimes he comes back to Carl’s smell on his bike. He always wipes it off by tracing the metal with his own hands. ‘Follows me around, is all. Haven’t shifted, so there’s nothing to see.’

Rick grins, ‘I can tell him to back off.’

Daryl grunts. ‘Lori ain’t so keen.’

The wife and mother is one of those people who are scared of him, no matter how tame he looks and acts. She’s always friendly and respectful, making sure not to overstep any boundaries, but she can’t help but reek of fear when he walks past.

He appreciates the mask she slips on, of stoic acceptance and kindness, because it means that she _knows_ he’s not feral. But knowing that and feeling safe around someone who can change into an animal are two different things, he knows. It’s instinct, and he, of all people, can respect that.

‘I know,’ Rick says as he stretches his legs. ‘You can’t blame her for being frightened.’

‘I don’t,’ Daryl says promptly. ‘She should be. A wolf ain’t a damn pet.’

‘Are they two different things?’ Ricks asks, cocking his head to the side and baring his throat by accident. It’s a casual move. He doesn’t mean anything by it and Daryl dismisses it. ‘In your mind, are they different? Daryl and the wolf?’

The hunter shrug and looks out over the camping site. He watches how Maggie rides her favorite horse as she checks the fences. ‘’s hard to explain.’

‘But you can control it?’

‘Of course I can control him,’ Daryl says. ‘Otherwise you’d all be dead already.’

The comment causes Rick to freeze. Daryl frowns when his scent changes into fear, wariness and anger. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, for a moment not understanding what’s causing Rick’s distress. He hasn’t even so much as _swiped_ at anyone of their group in his second skin.

‘It wants to kill us?’ Rick’s voice is too soft. Disbelief has bled into the words, the pauses between them pregnant with fear.

Daryl frowns, ‘no. Not, I mean, no. Not really.’

‘ _Not really_?’ Anger starts to overtake the fear inside the former sheriff. His hand moves towards his gun.

The wolf snarls inside Daryl’s chest.

‘What the hell did ya expect? He sees a bunch of walkers and men with guns, rock and hard place, ain’t it?’

‘It sees me pulling my gun and thinks _I_ am a threat?’ Rick’s eyes are wide. He can’t believe it.

And Daryl can’t believe why that’s a difficult concept to grasp.

‘Of course he does,’ he snarls, his voice lower and deeper now that the wolf is starting to get restless, sensing his own unease. ‘You’re nothing to him. You ain’t pack. You ain’t family. Hell, you ain’t even _familiar_ to him. Just another fuckin’ one-skinner with a gun in his hands, of course it wants to rip ya throat out!’

‘Jesus.’

‘What’s gotten your panties in a twist suddenly? Hell, you’ve _seen_ me shift! Did it look like we wanted to rip your throat out?’

‘No.’ Rick frowns, ‘that’s why… Fuck, that’s why I don’t understand. You _know_ I’m not a threat to you, why would you want to rip us up?’

Daryl groans, the sound more like a low growl than he’d like to admit. It makes Rick flinch. ‘I don’t, man. Look, here’s how it works, kind of, okay? We’re like, like… we’re like two minds in the same body. When I shift, I know who you are, where we are, everything, all right? But he doesn’t know you. And he’s all, hunt and run and chase. He’s not stupid. He’s clever, but he’s all instinct and we just.. you know. We talk.’

‘ _Talk_?’ Rick echoes disbelievingly.

Daryl hides his face behind his hands, groaning a bit at the ridiculousness of having to explain this to a one-skinner. ‘Don’t maul my friends, maul that walker instead. Like that, okay? Just have to nudge him a bit, sometimes.’

 Rick lets himself fall onto his back, looking perplexed and confused. He stares up at the sky. ‘Does he ever not listen?’

The scars on his back burn at the memories. Himself, too scared to reign the animal back in, to make it bow to his will, and his wolf too young to understand that humans are not the same as were’s. That they don’t play like wolves do.

He remembers the sudden burst of blood on his tongue. Merle’s screams. And his dad bringing down a heavy metal pole on his back, making the wolf whimper in pain and fright. Of course they’d let his brother go, shrinking back into his first skin and curling up in a little ball of shame and fear. The wolf whining in his heart about how it had just wanted to play, how it didn’t understand, how it had gotten scared when feeling how fragile their brother was between his jaws.

He also remembers his dad shifting. That large wolf looming over him, sharp nails piercing his human-skin in punishment.

They look like cigarette burns now. He never corrects anyone on their assumptions. Of course, the longer slashes leave little to the imagination. He’s almost relieved when people think a belt had torn his skin open.

‘No. He always listens to me.’

Rick looks at him with a sly grin, ‘does he have a name?’

Daryl aims a kick at his feet.

‘What?’ His friend laughs, ‘you guys _talk_! What do you call him?’

‘Fuck off.’

Rick grins lazily and is silent for a while. Then he sits up and glances at the hunter, ‘if I’m around more often when you shift, will it get used to me?’

‘Done told ya; I got him.’

The wolf hums in his veins. A low rumble and warmth from so deep within him that he can feel it in his very bones. The infectious heat of their bond always makes Daryl relax but the wolf smells the lure of pack in the human’s words.

Rick nods, ‘okay. I need to go check on Carl.’

‘He’s at the back of the house with Shane,’ Daryl mumbles as he picks at the grass again.

Rick gives him a small smile as he gets up. ‘You can smell him from here?’

‘All one-skins reek.’

‘That’s my son you’re insulting.’

Daryl grins, a toothy grin which lets his wolf shine through, ‘ain’t insulting, just sayin’.’

Rick huffs out a breath of laughter, ‘yeah, well, anyway, thanks for keeping an eye out for him. See you around.’

He’s gone before Daryl can even think to object to such a ridiculous notion. He’s _not_ looking out for that boy. Not for anyone of them.

But the wolf preens in his chest.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

 

 

The stench won’t go away. It’s like it soaked his skin, lingering beneath the scent of sweat and cigarettes. There’s death all around him. Gunshots. Fire.

Even though they left the farm, the smell of its ruin haunts him. 

The road is long and harsh. They’re always running, always hiding and fighting. There’s always blood on his hands.

His blood feels like it’s on fire. The wolf snarls at him when he reaches out, so angry that he’s not allowed to roam free and protect the ones who start to feel more like pack every single day, but Daryl can’t let him loose now. The group is already on edge, so frightened, their nerves are fraying before his eyes. He doesn’t want to add to that.

Winter is slowly moving through the lands. It gets more difficult to find game. He doesn’t have a lot of time to hunt during the day, Rick won’t allow him to stray far and they need to keep moving to stay ahead of the various herds. He’s too slow in his human-skin. Deer need several arrows before it will succumb to them, and his wolf keeps nagging about how they only need one bite.

‘Daryl, on point! Carl, you’re with me, like glue, okay?’

They’re clearing another abandoned house. Rick a shadow on his left, Carl on his right. T-dog, always having his back. The door is kicked aside easily. He smoothly moves through the house, taking out two walkers in the living room before bounding up the stairs to the second floor, which is cleared in seconds.

He can hear Carl’s silenced gun go off in the garage.

On the threshold of a bedroom, he waits until he can hear the young boy’s nervous exhale of breath and then the determined footfalls as he moves on.

Several minutes later, the rest of the group moves in. Glenn and Maggie drag the bodies out.

Lori sits down on the couch, one hand resting on her belly while the other pushes a strand of her dark hair behind an ear. Worried eyes follow Rick as the leader stalks through the various rooms, checking the windows, always a nervous hand on his gun.

Daryl watches from a corner of the room. He doesn’t claim one of the chairs as his, but sinks down next to a large speaker which used to belong to a set and stereo. The stereo is gone. This place was probably looting right after the quarantine zones were erected, before anyone knew that electronics would be fucking useless and they should have taken the canned food instead. Beth is sitting on the second speaker. Her shoulders are slumped, eyes sunken. Her father strokes her blonde hair soothingly.

Daryl bites on the nail of his thumb. It’s been a day since he shot that fucking owl. Didn’t hit the spot.

He looks on as Carl sits down on the floor and starts to open a can of dogfood.

The smell is foul for his sensitive nose, but its quickly drowned out by a flash of Rick’s anger, his desperation, his grief, his pain, all of his stress as the man steps forward, grabs the can and throws it across the room. He just stands there for a moment, chest heaving, far too thin, eyes wide and empty before he slowly turns.

To Daryl.

‘Please,’ he says softly, but Daryl hears.

The wolf rouses in his heart, heavy and sharp and ready. He can feel his eyes change already, gold mixing with pale blue but only cocks his head to the side inquisitively.

Rick takes a step towards him. The whole group is watching the interaction.

The hunter looks away.

‘Daryl, please.’

‘Don’t know what ya expect me to do,’ the were mutters as he climbs to his feet, joints cracking due to the cold. ‘Ain’t a fuckin’ grocery store out there, ya know, been keepin’ me on some sort of fuckin’ leash all this time, I can’t even get no damn run in and now I’m supposed to go and fetch you dinner because your highness doesn’t want his kid to eat like a fuckin’ dog, that it, huh? Well I aint nobody’s-‘

‘ _Daryl_.’ He falls silent for a moment. Rick steps closer still, too close for his liking but he holds his ground. ‘I’m begging you,’ Rick whispers between them.

Blue eyes meet the strange mixture of blue and gold.

Daryl snorts and moves away.

Rick lets his chin fall to his chest in defeat.

‘Better not fuckin’ touch my stuff while I’m out,’ the hunter grouses as he takes his crossbow which he’d laid to rest on the table and puts it in his corner. ‘I’ll fuckin’ know, all right, all y’all.’

Rick’s head snaps back up. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open in surprise.

‘Gonna shift in the damn hallway, lock the door behind me, officer,’ Daryl snaps. He brushes past the other man, Rick reaches for him, hand unsteady but Daryl snarls at him, pulling back his lips to reveal blunt teeth, ‘leave me be,’ he snaps.

He stomps into the hallway, hangs his leather vest on a hook near the door and drops his shirt on the floor. Boots are kicked off quickly, his jeans shoved down, socks and underwear kicked beneath the pile. The shift ripples over him before he has time to think about it.

The hallway suddenly seems much bigger. He stretches, darts around himself to snap at his own tail for a second before shaking his head, and letting his ears swivel. Bated breaths in the other rooms, familiar smells mixing with fear and excitement. He lets his voice rumble in his throat, the wolf so happy to be in his own skin, so free and bigger and powerful.

Daryl tugs at its mind, letting the playfulness subside into that warm hum their blending minds always creates.

He pads towards the door. Whines and growls, pulling back his lips in agitation of being made to wait.

Rick behind him. Metal and gunpowder and sweat and blood.

 _Friend_ , Daryl tells the wolf.

 _Not-enemy_ , the wolf agrees.

‘I’m sorry.’

The words are unclear in his ears, muffled by another skin, so far away, and yet he knows them. I am. _Being_. Sorry. The wolf doesn’t understand. He does not apologize, but Daryl reminds him of too rough tousles with Merle which had ended with them in their human-skin bandaging their brother’s arm, of accidentally knocking over a pup in his excitement and standing guard while it climbed back onto four paws.

 _Why_ , he wants to know.

 _For locking us in_ , Daryl tells him even though he knows it’s not true. He can see Rick clearly through golden eyes, remember him better now than in the early days, because there’s more of him inside their minds. He can see those eyes and knows that Rick is sorry for letting them out instead.

He scoffs and the wolf huffs at the sheriff, chest broad and paws silent. Hackles slowly start to rise, impatience driving the wolf forwards, tongue lolling out, bright red, curling up around his own snout to clean the fur there.

‘Be careful,’ Rick says as he puts a hand on the handle.

The wolf crouches down low, stalking towards the door, excitement running through its veins and Daryl lets himself fall back into instinct, drowning in _hunt_ and _chase_ and _kill_ as soon as the door opens.

 

He chooses not to remember much. The wolf doesn’t need him to hunt. Not when they’re just chasing rabbits, hurling after birds and sniffing out larger prey. There aren’t many trails to follow, so he just lopes through the woods for a couple of minutes, though time is always difficult to tell in this form. The sun is starting to sink though. It wasn’t like that when he left.

He lets their minds be a muddle of animalistic instinct for the time being, always close enough to the surface to grab the reigns again. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his other skin. It’s just that the wolf sometimes doesn’t _understand_.

These moments of oblivion are precious to him. His mind is so blank, and yet so full, too occupied with their single-minded task of survival that he doesn’t have time to worry about their destination, or how Shane isn’t there, whether Andrea might have survived, why Rick won’t even look at Lori anymore, or the way Carl shivers because of the cold during the nights.

 _Chicken_! The wolf tells him and Daryl laughs so hard the wolf bites their paw in mirth.

 _Chicken_ , Daryl agrees when they smell the earth again. _Catch, kill, devour_.

 _Not hunting, not like deer, so fast, not like rabbit, fast and cunning, always running away,_ the wolf sulks a bit.

 _Hungry_ , Daryl reminds him with a burst of affection.

 _Hungry_ , the wolf grants.

They find the chicken several minutes later. And tear it apart with a flash of teeth and low growl. Their snout covered in blood and feathers, hunger slowly subsiding to bearable levels. The lucky thing about chickens, according to Daryl, is this; there’s rarely just one. So the wolf is all playful swipes and snapping necks as he gathers them in a dead, bloody pile.

Enough for now, Daryl tells the wolf as their mind wanders to the trees and pleasures of running. It has gotten dark while they ate, the night quick and unforgiving. The others are still hungry, going cold now, they should get back.

With their mouth full of chicken, they lope back, easy, relaxed strides; finally stretching out their muscles again.

 _That will teach him_ , the wolf thinks, brags really, as they think about how Rick finally let them slip out of the house, out of that goddamn leash he’s had on them, a noose around their necks, keeping them calm and one-skinned.

Daryl hums, but is too afraid to tell the wolf; it was me who kept us in. The wolf doesn’t understand the difference, not really, because they share a skin and always lurk in each other’s eyes; Daryl is him and he is Daryl. He doesn’t understand that people fear them in one form and not the other.

And he certainly wouldn’t understand that Daryl doesn’t want to see the mistrust and fear in the eyes of his friends.

 

Hershel and Rick are out on the porch when they return. Mouth full of prey and food and so tasteful between their strong jaws. Their tail wags when he crosses the road and melts out of shadows, into the light of the moon they love so much.

‘Thank God,’ Rick breathes when he spots them. He jumps over the banister and approaches.

Daryl stops and lets the chicken fall between their paws.

‘Are you alright, son?’

Golden gaze flickers over at Hershel but snap back at Rick, who is coming nearer. One triangular ear perks up.

‘Yeah, are you all right?’ Rick asks as he stops in front of the wolf.

Daryl licks their snout and yawns.

‘Thank you so much, Glenn made a small fire so we can cook these up right-‘ Rick makes a move to grab the chicken.

The wolf growls.

‘Easy,’ Rick holds up his hands and crouches down, ‘it’s me, Daryl. It’s Rick.’

The wolf looks away, disinterested.

Rick reaches out again. A snap of vicious teeth has him stumbling back. ‘What the hell,’ Rick yelps as he reaches for his gun which causes Daryl to let a growl rumble in his throat.

‘Easy now, both of ya,’ Hershel says as he walks down the path, ‘calm down, Rick, he didn’t mean no harm. Did ya, ya big bully,’ the older man murmurs as he reaches out, grabs at Daryl’s nape and tugs.

Daryl growls half-heartedly.

‘I know,’ Hershel soothes in a low voice, ‘all yours, you did good,’ he tugs again, harder. ‘You already had some, huh? Was it good?’

The wolf postures and Daryl knows that Hershel has dealt with his kind before. He’s far too comfortable, too sure in the way his fingers dig into the fur, tug at skin which only translates as play in the wolf’s mind and never as a threat. He knew before, of course. Hershel knows _what_ he is. What he needs to hear in order to sleep easy.

‘What’s going on?’ Rick asks, still on edge and defensive.

‘Just a bit of posturin’,’ Hershel smiles. ‘He wouldn’t have bitten you, Rick. Nothing to worry about.’

‘How can you tell?’

The wolf dismisses all of them and slinks past the older man, the sheriff and through the open door of the house. His ear, however, swivels to catch the reply.

‘Rick,’ Hershel says in a slow voice as if he’s talking to a small child. ‘He brought you _food_.’

Daryl is thankful, not for the first time in his life, that wolves don’t blush. With sharp teeth, he drags his clothes into a corner of the hallway, padding around it in order to mark it before settling down. Shadows hide him relatively well. He doesn’t need the fire that has been built in the kitchen as long as he stays in this skin. So he curls up, golden eyes glinting and waits.

Rick passes him with the chickens in his hands. ‘Thanks again, Daryl, you have no idea what this means to me. Us. All of us.’

Daryl huffs and looks away.

‘Do you want me to grab your pack and bow? So you have everything, err.. in your… place? Den?’

He lets his lips curl back, revealing his teeth.

‘Right,’ Rick nods, ‘no touching the bow. Do you want your chicken, err, raw? I feel stupid talking to you like this,’ the sheriff blurts, ‘I don’t even know… Do you want your chicken raw?’

He yawns just to be a dick.

‘I don’t know what that means, I, err,’ Rick hesitates, ‘raw? Yeah?’

The confusion and hesitance annoys the wolf. It snaps in Rick’s direction, teeth flashing in warning.

‘Jesus, Daryl, stop it,’ Rick tries, but his words aren’t demanding enough. ‘I’m trying to understand you but – ‘

Daryl is human in flash, pushing the other man up against the wall with animalistic strength. Their faces close, breaths mingling as the hunter growls and snarls. ‘What’s your damn problem now, officer?’ He demands. ‘Hershel done told ya; I already ate, so why’re ya hounding me, huh? Did my damn job, now fuck off and leave me be!’

‘I’m sorry!’ Rick says, eyes wide and reeking of fear.

‘You will be,’ Daryl nods. One hand comes up to push at Rick’s chin, forcing the other man to bare his throat.

Rick tilts his head back immediately. Far too willing.

Disgusting, Daryl thinks, losing all interest at once.

Weak, the wolf snorts.

They turn away from their leader and grab Daryl’s clothes, pulling his jeans back on and snapping the belt closed. His back to Rick, he doesn’t even care about the scars now, not when the wolf brags in his heart about resilience and defiance, about dominating and ruling, snapping jaws and far too submissive pack-members.

Rick disappears without another word.

‘He tries,’ Hershel tells him in a soft tone of voice.

Daryl whips around, golden eyes flashing as he advances on the older man. He slams a hand down on the wall behind the farmer, growls into his face, ‘don’t give a damn, old man.’

‘You do. He could be a good alpha,’ Hershel says with a kind smile. ‘If you taught him how.’

Daryl scoffs, ‘anyone who needs to be _taught_ how to be a good alpha ain’t one.’

‘He’s _human_ , Daryl. We all are. We could use some pointers to be a better pack.’

‘Y’all ain’t my pack!’

‘There’s no such thing as a lone wolf, son.’

‘Ain’t your son neither.’ He steps closer, baring his blunt teeth in warning.

Hershel just looks at him. Patient. He doesn’t smell like fear, Daryl realizes with a start. He smells of the woods, of family, of his daughters he loves so much, of the memory of the farm with only a trace of flames and ashes in the scent. ‘Get some sleep,’ the man says.

And it sounds like an order.

Daryl backs away, glares but dips his chin a little before turning back to his stuff, grabbing his shirt and boots before making his way to the living room where he curls up in a corner to get some sleep.

 

Rick avoids him for the next couple of days. That suits Daryl fine. He sulks and scowls and glares at everything that moves near him. Anyone who even attempts to make conversation is quickly shot down with vicious words and snarls. Beth bursts into tears twice. Carl often hides behind his father after a scolding. Glenn tries to talk to him once but is left speechless and in pain after carefully chosen insults and remarks.

The wolf stalks in his body, so angry, so so mad at the world. They dream about their former packlands. About their brother who had been a dirty one-skinner but still their alpha, always so loud and assertive while he was the slinking shadow of teeth behind his threats. He remembers others, biting an omega down and dropping onto his back, forcing him into submission while gnawing on an ear. A beta who was beautiful, so quick and alert, always giving him a run for his money while out hunting. He wonders what has happened to her. Their mother, who had once been a powerful alpha female, even in only one skin, unafraid of snapping jaws of pups and grown wolves alike. Their father, who had been raw _power_.

They dream about leaving, about staying, about never coming home again. Dreams and nightmares, he wakes from both with screams in their throats.

One morning, Carol brings him food. It’s barely enough to take the edge of the hunger. She sets it down in front of him and then sinks to one knee.

‘You’re scaring everyone.’

Good, the wolf snarks, because they’re a bad pack.

Daryl just glares.

‘This isn’t you,’ Carol whispers. ‘Neither one of you.’

‘Stupid bitch,’ Daryl grumbles as he looks away. ‘Don’t need your lectures.’

‘You think that Rick is a bad alpha?’ She asks and Daryl wonders whether everyone knows about their argument. Probably. ‘You’re forgetting that he’s _human_. You’re the only werewolf he has ever known. And he’s _trying_ , Daryl. We all are. I know that you used to have a pack with humans, Merle was human, so can’t you at least try to understand?’

‘I understand fine,’ he spits out. ‘Redneck trash with tainted blood, trust me _, I know_.’

Carol looks surprised for a second, ‘that’s not – Daryl, that’s not what – you’re _unpredictable_. We don’t know anything about you, either one of you. The most basic things, we don’t know. Why do you shift? Is it still you when you’re a wolf? Can you understand us when we speak after you’ve shifted? Which skin do you prefer? You’re just a shadow, Daryl. The wolf, he’s just a shadow to us. Always there but we can’t ever see it properly. You once told Rick that he’s nervous around us because we’re strangers to him. Well, he’s a stranger to us, too.’ She gives him a hesitant smile, ‘and his teeth are rumored to be pretty intimidating, but I’d like to meet him, sometime. To meet you, fully.’

Daryl glares at her but doesn’t say anything. The wolf quiets in his heart. Ponders the human words. Doubt makes him want to tug his tail in. They suddenly realize that they are no longer the norm. His former pack had been mostly wolves, with a few members like Merle, who had grown up around them. There was never anyone new. They were what was natural. Merle was one-skinned and odd, only grudgingly accepted.

The tables have turned, Daryl realizes.


	6. Chapter 6

 

* * *

 

 

‘My brother was an alpha.’

Rick’s head snaps up.

They’re sitting around the campfire. Carl is asleep in his father’s lap, his head resting on the strong thigh of the leader. A jacket has been thrown over him to keep him warm. His mother has his feet in her lap. She rubs at the skin of his ankle every couple of minutes. Glenn and Maggie are huddled together near the flames, his head resting on her shoulder. Beth sits with her father. T-dog is on guard duty.

Daryl chews on his thumb and doesn’t look up.

‘Merle?’ Lori asks carefully.

The wolf growls in annoyance, blood trembling in their veins, but Daryl makes it quiet down, tells it about how words are sometimes empty and meaningless and only meant as bait to keep the conversation going. ‘Yeah,’ he mutters around his fingers, the word muffled. He puts his hand down. ‘Took over after our old man died.’

‘Alpha are like the top dogs, right? The leaders of the pack?’ Glenn asks.

_Weren’t no dog_ , he wants to snap but he swallows and nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘But he was human,’ Maggie says. ‘Right? I thought Glenn said that only you-‘

‘He is,’ Daryl tells her. He glances up, eyes far too golden, blinking due to the soft light of the flames before him. ‘He _is_ human.’

‘How can a human be an alpha?’ Beth pipes up with a frown on her face. She shrinks back when he looks at her, pressing herself against her father and clearly expecting another scolding.

‘Ain’t no reason they can’t be.’

‘But alpha’s are the ones at the top,’ she says, voice quivering a bit as he holds her gaze. ‘And you’re… well, you could, I mean – in a fight? You could take him, right?’

‘Snap him like a twig,’ Daryl nods and then shrugs. ‘It ain’t about who’s being able to take who. It’s…’ He searches for the right words. ‘It’s more about being assertive and shit, it’s… it’s innate. You just are or ain’t.’

‘But you didn’t _have_ to listen to him, right? You’re a wolf, so you could just do what you want!’

‘Maggie could snap your old man in two but she still listens to him, right?’ Daryl murmurs as he bites on his thumb. ‘’s my brother, we wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe that’s why he was an alpha. I dunno.’

‘Because you wouldn’t hurt him?’ Glenn asks with a frown.

‘Because Daryl is a beta,’ Hershel says, old eyes on the younger werewolf. ‘The second in command. The peace keeper. A human alpha is only possible when he has a strong and capable beta backing him up. They are the ones that keep the order intact. As much as you and I loathe it, son,’ he says kindly when Daryl looks at him with a puzzled expression, ‘I’m a vet. And you’re not human. I met some of yours.’

‘You’ve been around werewolves?’ Glenn asks with wide eyes.

‘They would help out on the farm during the harvest,’ Maggie says with a nod. ‘Some packs wandered through the country side, looking for the odd jobs. They were strong, could get the job done three times faster than any of our vacation workers. We weren’t allowed to come near them, Beth and I.’

Daryl snorts, ‘best lock ya daughters in, folks.’ He rolls his eyes and leans back on his elbows.

Hershel looks at him. ‘I love my daughters, Daryl, but I know they’re no angels. And those pack nights? They’re not for fourteen year old _human_ girls. I’ve had to patch up the odd one the next day. An illegal party, young men in love with the moon and two girls that can sniff out trouble better than any of your kind? Yes, I locked my daughters in, all right.’

The werewolf grins at the man, eyes flashing golden as his teeth blink. ‘A’right.’

‘Did you have pack nights like that?’ Beth asks.

The smile fades immediately. The eyes are blue in an instant. ‘What the fuck is it to you?’ Daryl snaps at the young girl. The wolf whines in his chest, mournful howls thrumming in his blood.

Beth glances around, getting courage from her family, ‘we were just talking.’

‘She means no harm, Daryl,’ Rick rumbles. ‘You don’t have to answer. We were just curious.’

Daryl bites on his thumb, scrapes his boot over the floorboards and stays silent for a while. The rest of the group is watching him out of the corner of their eyes. They hold their breaths when he starts to talk.

‘When I was just a pup? Hmm, we had pack nights like that. Remember this big bonfire, ten foot high flames licking the sky, lit up the whole place. Our dad would take us runnin’, out in the woods. Just run and run. I was the youngest and smallest, got tired quick. My dad would pick me up, carrying me back to the bonfire before leading the rest of the pack out again.

‘Merle would be there with ma and some other one-skinners. He’d let me sleep in his lap until dad got back. Woke me up for the rest of the party. They’d usually brought back game. Rabbits, a deer, maybe. We’d eat. We’d fight a lot. Stupid scraps over hierarchy, who got to sit and sleep where, who got to eat first. A lot of it was just posturin’. Playin’. ‘specially with them pups. Sure, some’d get nicked, scratched, the odd bite, but that’s just part of it. Gotta learn to take a hit.’

Daryl shifts and looks uncomfortable but presses on when he meets Rick’s eye and the man smiles encouragingly.

‘Our mom used to sing on those nights. Merle’d pretend to know how to howl,’ he laughs at the memory. ‘Good times. Just the pack, just family, happy as a dead pigs in the sunshine. We’d stay there the night. Just sleep under the stars. Was great.’

‘Higher body temperature must have come in handy,’ Hershel smiles.

‘Cold don’t bother me none,’ Daryl acknowledges. ‘Merle used to freeze his balls off when I was a youngling. Always forgot he didn’t have a coat on him, ran off to play and left his ass there. Would curse up a storm when he woke up. It was easier to remember when we got older, that there was a difference between us, ya know? That I had to look out for him differently. He got better at taking what he wanted too. Yanked my tail back when I tried to slip out, using me as a damn blanket.’

‘Higher body temperature?’ Lori reaches out with her hand.

Daryl flinches.

‘Sorry, sorry!’ The woman says quickly, ‘I didn’t mean anything, I just wanted to-‘

‘It’s fine,’ Daryl snaps just to make her stop. ‘It’s just… it’s fine. Here.’ He holds his arm out.

She puts a hesitant hand on his biceps. A smile lights up her features. ‘You’re like a stove.’

‘Yup. Came in handy. Imagine the heat when it’s not even bare skin.’

Lori beams at him and he returns the smile hesitantly.

‘I know who I’m sleeping next to if this winter pushes through,’ Carol says.

‘Everyone knows that spot has been taken for a while now,’ Glenn leers and gets a stick thrown at his head for his trouble. ‘Ahw, come on! It was just a joke.’

Daryl snorts at his indignant look and leans back on his elbows again.

‘Why do you shift?’ Beth asks. ‘Like, do you _have_ to?’

‘Suppose not,’ the hunter frowns a little. ‘It’s just…’ He never even considered the possibility of keeping the wolf in forever. There’s no reason as to why he shifts other than that he can and wants to. Fear bleeds into their hearts at the thought of never shifting again. He shivers. When he looks up, he sees that everyone is still looking at him expectantly. ‘He gets snappy with me if it’s too long.’

‘ _Snappy_?’ Beth echoes with a soft laugh.

‘Ever met a snappy wolf? Don’t want that rumblin’ in your chest.’ Daryl gets to his feet with a soft groan. He grabs his bow. ‘I’m gonna go check on T-dog.’

 

The wolf _is_ snappy with him when they change skins the next time, but it’s not because he hasn’t shifted in a long time. Instead, it’s because he can sense Daryl’s fear and anxiety. The trust Daryl has in the animal inside of him is absolute. But it’s founded in blood and nature, that mutual longing for life, and nothing as rational as being friends or even the same side of a coin.

Calm, Daryl projects when they shift. Calm, there’s nothing wrong, peace, safety, warmth, friends.

The wolf snaps at him, agitated and suspicious. Are you trying to trick us? They think. Is there danger here and are you trying to trick us? We’re always calm, why are you telling us this, why are you scared, what’s wrong, what’s _wrong_?

Paws on concrete, nails clicking coldly as they follow their own trail back to a fireplace. They’re in a big hall, not so very far away from the woods to upset them, close enough to smell the earth in this tomb. There are shadows, moving, talking, laughing softly.

The laughter fades when they approach.

Don’t look at them, Daryl coaxes the wolf, patience, stay back, stay low, move your ears lower, put your tail down – no, wag it more like a dog’s, look friendly but don’t _look_ , stay away from Carl, don’t go near Beth, the _cubs_ , Daryl points out, voice harsh and almost shrill in their minds, don’t go near the cubs!

And his other self finally understands their own fears.

The wolf snarls at him, nipping at his own shoulder with sharp teeth. There’s anger coiling in the pits of their stomachs. It spreads through them through their veins. Not like fire, it’s far too cold and numbing for that, but like acid. Slow like honey, too.

Daryl tries to make hasty excuses to soothe his soul.

The wolf is having none of it. It’s not as stupid as many people think. This is your fault, he tells Daryl by making him think of the time they almost broke their paw by hesitating before taking a giant leap over a chasm. _Trust_ , he bites at the human part of him, blood, pack, family, _trust me_.

Before you screw us both over.

_Again_.

The pain of their broken arm from the time they hadn’t made the leap because of Daryl makes them both wince.

Daryl apologizes by curling up tighter inside their chests, drowning a little more inside himself. Fears melt away into instinct. They have nothing to fear. They are the shadows and the teeth and the claws and when they’re not, they are still death in booted feet and blue eyes. Fingers on triggers which could be merciful nails and jagged teeth if they were feeling kind enough.

A spike of fear – not them, Daryl tells himself – and the wolf mocks him for his stupidity.

Of course not them, it growls and sighs. They look over to where the group is sitting. They’re looking at them, too. Eyes wide and fearful, some more than others. One of the cubs is too young to be scared and the wolf wonders whether that makes him stupid in a world like this one.

No, Daryl tells him. He’s good.

The wolf shrugs him off and pads closer to the group. He can feel ice of worry starting to form within himself, his other self, them, again. He snarls at his paws, bites at his tummy.

Sorry, Daryl acknowledges and he tugs at their ears playfully. Human instincts.

Pathetic, the wolf agrees as he slowly walks around the group. Wary eyes follow him.

‘Hello, Daryl.’

The wolf’s ear perks up and he glances at Hershel, who they’re just walking past. He remembers the old man and ducks forward to smell him. Wet nose against a bearded cheek, close to his mouth, his teeth, a wolf’s greeting and Daryl whines inside of them, stop, don’t come so near, they’re probably scared.

But Hershel doesn’t look scared. He greets the wolf, rubs at the fur on the side of his neck, digging the fingers in deep and tugging hard before ignoring him.

The wolf growls at him, a deep rumble in his throat.

‘I see you,’ Hershel acknowledges, another tug at the fur.

The wolf steps all over him, circling around him. Stop, Daryl groans, distance, don’t come so near.

The wolf bristles, growling again, now more hostile than a friendly greeting.

‘Daryl’s a bit too close to the surface, hmm?’ Hershel asks the wolf while the rest of the group flinches at the sound.

Daryl winces inside of himself. The wolf snarks at him.

He is far too close to the surface. Their minds are almost splitting, so close to shifting that their skin tingles. Daryl’s holding on to the reigns so tightly that the wolf feels trapped, scared because he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. He’s been around these people before. They all know what he looks like, how big he is, _what_ he is.

It doesn’t understand that they’re formally meeting each other.

And that Daryl is scared out of his minds.

He wants this to go well. If something happens now, if the wolf snaps or looks at someone the wrong way, they might lose all chances. They will never become pack properly, they will never be accepted.

He can’t let that happen.

‘I thought you trusted him,’ Rick frowns and his posture changes from relaxed to uneasy. ‘Daryl said the wolf always listened to him, but he looks….’

‘Rick,’ Hershel says calmly. ‘don’t. Give them a moment. Hmm?’ He tugs at Daryl’s ear. ‘It’s fine. Go check on your pack,’ then he pushes at Daryl’s snout.

And Daryl drowns in himself, properly.

The eyes more golden now, no longer that streak of blue inside the honey, he checks on Beth, who is sitting next to her father and reeks of fear. A second, just a glance and then he moves to Maggie, who meets his gaze calmly and allows him to come closer. Steady eyes meeting, the wolf a bit tense as he leans close to sniff her, but she reveals her teeth in a smile, and pushes at the side of his neck when he comes too close.

‘So weird,’ she laughs, ‘hi, Daryl.’

‘Hi,’ Glenn echoes weakly. ‘Wow. You’re so big, it blows my mind.’

The wolf ignores him, slinks away, weaving out of the circle so he can slowly pad past Lori. Her scared eyes follow him, her body twisting one way before snapping the other way, trying to never lose sight of him.

He makes himself smaller than he is. Doesn’t look at her. Daryl is proud of that.

‘Hey Pookie.’

Carol’s chin is too high and her hand trembles and her shoulders are hunched while her knife is too close to her fingertips, but he still likes her. The wolf is confused for a second. But Daryl insists; we like her.

‘You’re gorgeous.’ She reaches out to touch him but he darts back, remembering the knife and high chin.

He quickly slinks past T-dog, curls around Rick to glance back at Carol, his broad side pressed against the former cop. Golden eyes on the woman, a thundering heartbeat against his flank.

Maggie sniggers.

The wolf looks at her.

‘Rick looks terrified, Daryl. It’s hilarious.’

‘I don’t!’ Rick argues but his voice sounds all wrong, even to the wolf.

‘Relax,’ Hershel tells him, ‘chin a bit higher, voice steady.’

‘I don’t,’ Rick says again and there’s authority bleeding into the words now. ‘I’m not scared. Hello, Daryl.’

‘Try pushing his head down a bit.’

‘What?’

‘Put your hand on his head and push it down a little bit.’

A hand lands on Daryl’s head, pushing it lower. The wolf growls, bristles but ducks under the pressure.

‘Good,’ Hershel nods.

‘Can I touch him too?’ Carl asks eagerly.

‘No,’ Lori says with a dark look at Rick. ‘He’s not a pet.’

‘I know, I just want to feel his coat. It looks soft. Is it, dad? Can I touch him?’

Rick glances at his wife. ‘Listen to your mom, Carl.’

The wolf get bored with the vagueness of the words. He understands them if he tries, but he can’t be bothered at the moment. He sits down beside Rick and yawns.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Glenn swears and T-dog sniggers.

‘The Lord’s name,’ Hershel answers sternly.

‘Did you see those teeth?’ the younger man asks. ‘Sorry, but did you see those _teeth_?’

‘Yes, son, calm down.’

‘ _Calm down_?’

‘Glenn,’ Carol warns when the wolf’s ears twitch irritably. Golden eyes flash as Daryl gets up again, stretches and pads around restlessly. The wolf doesn’t want to sit in circles and listen to the dull human words. It’s all pent up playful energy. He catches Carl’s eye. He crouches down low, hackles raised as if he’s angry, paws silent as he sneaks towards the boy. Fluent muscles, barely a whisper as he pulls his lips back and-

‘Stop.’

The voice cracks like a whip.

Daryl stops. He looks back and up to see Rick standing there. A gun aimed at the wolf’s head.

‘Rick,’ Hershel starts, ‘he was just-‘

‘Don’t ever pounce on my son, you hear me?’

‘He didn’t mean-‘

‘I don’t want to hear it. You don’t come near him when you’re like this.’

The wolf scoffs at the words but relaxes his stance. Daryl wags their tai for good measure.

‘Good. Back away,’ Rick points at the spot in a corner.

Daryl slinks away and curls up. The wolf yawns, they close their eyes and pretend to sleep. Drooping ears and low breathing, humans are so easily fooled.

He can smell the victory basking from Rick. The authority, the false sense of entitlement.

The wolf growls in their hearts, scoffs too.

Rick thinks this was a battle won.

Daryl sinks into his wolf and dreams of bonfires and endless nights filled with playful scuffles, games of tag, of falling asleep on Merle’s broad chest when he was just a cub himself. He dreams about being a teenager and Merle tackling him right through their front door, of snapping viciously at human skin and yet never again breaking the skin of their brother. Of human hands against his chest, not strong enough but mean with the places those fingers dig into, of never forgetting to soften his blows just before they landed on their blood.

But remembers other fights too. Wolf against wolf, filled with blood and anger and a desire for the better rank. Teeth in flesh, tugging and tearing, nails digging deep into his skin while his teeth sank into someone else’s.

He dreams of Sally, who was a beta like him but clever where he was merely strong. She was fast, too, always taunting him until she got too cocky and came way too close and had to pay for it with blood and bruises. He never got out of those fights unharmed either.

He dreams of them walking home in their human forms, kissed by the moon, arms slung around each other, holding each other up and their blood mingled where it seeped out of their wounds. That lightness of laughter in their bones. Just friends, pack, family and blood.

The wolf cracks open one eye to look at this new family.

_Pathetic_ , it judges harshly.

_All we got_ , Daryl grouses.

The wolf closes his eye again and shuts them all out. _We miss Merle._

_Rick’s not bad. Just stupid._

_Why do we listen to him? We weren’t going to hurt the cub, we just wanted to play a bit. We wouldn’t have torn or snapped or even gnawed a little._

_He doesn’t understand,_ Daryl tells himself. _But he will_. _Let’s give them time._

The wolf hums to himself, an old song their mother used to sing about cubs growing into their teeth and claws. Daryl recognizes it for the clock ticking that it is.

The wolf has never been the most patient out of the two of them.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘We’re going in circles.’

Daryl curls his hand around the lighter, shielding the flame from the wind. Smoke trickles down into his lungs, filling it with the poison he craves. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s immune to such things. Not the addiction, of course, there’s never been anyone in this world with a more addictive personality than the youngest Dixon, but the scorched lungs; they don’t bother them.

Maybe the wolf’s blood protects him, or perhaps their endurance and lungs compensate for Daryl’s weak ones. He’s not quite sure how it works, but he never runs out of breath. That doesn’t mean he won’t die twenty years earlier than his peers, however, but he’s pretty sure that won’t be due to cancer so it doesn’t matter anymore.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees with Rick, who is standing guard beside him. They are going in circles. The walkers are acting more like pack members every day. Large groups travel towards the south, picking up random members and making them their own. Ten, twenty, they’ve seen herds of about a hundred corpses.

The only positive thing is that they’re easy to spot and move slowly. The noise of their own shuffling feet and growls make them deaf to that gasp of surprise and horror coming from Beth, or that hushed command Rick gives in order to get them moving and going back the way they came.

It frustrates Daryl sometimes that he’s rarely able to smell the herds or individual walkers. It’s just that death is everywhere. The whole world has been turned in a graveyard and bones snap beneath Daryl’s feet every time he moves, so how is he supposed to tell the difference between a walker and a dead man?

‘I don’t know what to do anymore.’ Rick is rubbing at his jaw. Finger scratching skin, leaving marks in their wake. ‘We can’t go back, we can’t – we don’t know what’s around the corner, we…’ He sighs and looks away. ‘I don’t know anymore.’

‘’s not much to know,’ Daryl reckons. Smoke bleeds over his lips as he talks. ‘Just keep on pushing North.’

‘We’ve got to find a good place for Lori, man. Time’s running out.’

‘Still got a few weeks, right?’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Rick nervously glances around. ‘Maybe something goes wrong, she goes into labor early, maybe… I don’t know. Shit.’

Daryl nods. His wolf is sleeping in their bones, tail brushing over his heart. Sometimes it’s restless inside of him, making his blood boil and skin prickle, but now it’s so calm that it almost makes Daryl feel high. Their heartbeats perfectly in sync, never missing a beat between them, and one part of their minds filled with dreams and oblivion.

It used to happen all the time. Not always in the dead of night, though, not always so quiet and serene, but sometimes they fit perfectly inside of one skin. After a successful hunt with their teeth in bleeding flesh, while finally pinning their father down and slashing that snout open because the old man had idiotically forgotten half of himself and had only relied on animalistic strength. Daryl’s cunning. And the wolf vicious. They rest in each other’s hearts.

There’s no need to shift even though it’s a perfect night for it, cool and silent, and it’s been almost two weeks since Rick initiated contact so Daryl keeps his skin for the time being. The wolf is asleep anyway. When it rouses, it’ll be hungry and reminding them of ticking clocks.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been a good… a good leader,’ Rick mutters as he looks away. ‘I just don’t know what to do anymore.’

‘Hmm,’ Daryl sucks on the cigarette and looks out over the fields. There’s a walker in the distance but if they’re lucky, they won’t even have to kill it. It will just stumble by, never even noticing them. ‘Why’re you ignorin’ Lori?’

‘I’m not.’

Daryl doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

Rick narrows his eyes, ‘why’re you asking? What is it to you?’

The werewolf meets his suspicious gaze head on. Blue eyes starting to swirl golden. He doesn’t answer.

‘She’s my _wife_ ,’ Rick hisses.

Daryl lifts an eyebrow and licks his lips before biting down on the cigarette. ‘Jesus Christ. You psycho, man? Ain’t after Lori. Just concerned about her.’

‘Why?’

‘’cause she’s your wife and you’re ignoring her and it’s drivin’ us nuts,’ Daryl snaps back, irritation starting to creep into his blood, tainting it. He hates Rick for messing up the calm he’d been feeling. The wolf rouses. He hates Rick, has hated him since the cop pulled a gun on them when they only wanted to play a bit, hates that the cop has just enough power over them to not be disregarded. ‘It’s hard to keep order if both Alpha’s ain’t even lookin’ at each other,’ Daryl spits out as he tries to ignore his wilder half.

‘I’m not ignoring her.’

‘Forcing her to eat your food ain’t the same.’

Rick sighs and squads down, hanging his head. ‘It’s just… everything’s so messed up, I don’t even know where to start fixin’ things.’

‘Start with the things you _can_ fix. Make a plan. Stick to it,’ Daryl throws his cigarette on the ground. ‘Stop _asking_ us to follow.’

Rick is quiet for a long time. He stares at the ground, reaches out to draw figures in the mud, meaningless but he seems to be looking for a pattern. ‘Okay,’ he says eventually and Daryl wants to throttle him because it’s not that simple. The wolf brags about how he was right and the humans are all worthless. ‘We’ll head South.’

‘Why?’ Daryl asks.

Rick stands and brushes the dirt from his knees. He meets Daryl’s eyes. ‘Because I say so.’

Daryl almost chuckles at the wolf’s surprised shock at the words. He can almost imagine his own reflection, one ear perking up in hesitant curiosity. The man hides their amusement and shock, however. He shoulder his bow and shrugs. ‘A’right.’

 

Winter hardens them.

The uncertainty washes from Rick’s posture, though desperation still curls around his spine like a cancer. His eyes harden with determination, fingers wrapping around the hefts of knifes with easy grace. His smell changes, but Daryl is the only one to notice.

He doesn’t shift much. There’s no real need for it and he doesn’t want to risk it right now. The wolf is moody. He’s quick with anger in Daryl’s heart, always close to the surface when the cop is around and only hiding deeper when Carl walks past and Lori looks at them with hesitation and worry.

Daryl hasn’t mentioned the incident. Partly because he’s too proud to admit that the wolf just wanted to goddamn _play_ and not rip the boy apart when they got ready to jump him, but also because he’d never expected Rick to see him as a danger. They’ve spend enough time together now for the cop to grasp the superficial rules about him. Not too close and certainly not over him and chin low but not too low and never, ever offering up a neck at the first growl.

Of course, they have learned a couple of rules too. No playing is now one of them, but they know they shouldn’t come too close to Lori because she’s very scared and Glenn only gets scared when they yawn and show off their teeth. They’ve learned that they can do it three times before the Korean knows they’re doing it on purpose and stops being scared and starts being angry instead. Maggie doesn’t like it when they shift in the middle of a conversation even though Hershel told her they can still perfectly understand her if they want too. The girl is clever though. She knows they don’t want to.

The farmer doesn’t have any special rules. The wolf likes that.

‘Daryl.’

The voice pulls the hunter from his thoughts. He’s sitting on the stairs of the house they’re squatting in. The rest of his pack – the _group_ , Daryl snarls at the wolf who whines in turn – is asleep upstairs.

Maggie is on guard duty. He can hear her walking slow circles around the house, sometimes stopping for a couple of minutes near the front where embers are buried in a deep hole. Deep enough to it doesn’t attract walkers, but also close enough for her to warm her hands when it gets too cold.

He’d offered to take the shift. He doesn’t mind the graveyard ones, when everyone else is asleep and he can shift to keep warm while walking their rounds. Some nights he manages to sleep, soothed by the padding of human feet around his lands, but mostly he just lays awake and tries not to think about how blind all humans are in the dead of night.

She’d refused his offer, of course. She’s too proud, sometimes.

Daryl looks over his shoulder and up the stairs to see Hershel standing there. ‘What?’

‘When is the last time you shifted?’

Daryl rolls his eyes. ‘Last night. Leave me be.’

‘I didn’t see your other half.’

‘Should open your damn eyes, old man,’ Daryl growls even though there was no way Hershel could have spotted them last night. They’d switched skins far into the woods and for just a couple of minutes. Just enough for the wolf to feel whole again, for their senses to shift back to half-half and the sourness to disperse from their blood.

‘Have you talked to Rick about the incident with Carl yet?’

Daryl rolls his eyes. He hates how Hershel always knows what’s bothering them. ‘No,’ he mutters because experience has taught him that the old man won’t let it go until they’ve talked about it, so he might as well get it over with.

The farmer sits down beside them. ‘Why not?’

The makes Daryl huff out a breath of silent-laughter. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to say, huh? Don’t worry about it, man. I know we’re in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse but we were just chasing our own tail a bit. Know it looked like we wanted to rip a hole in your boy but really, we were just playin’. Yeah, that sounds real good.’

‘You must miss your people.’

Daryl ducks his head and bites on his lip. He does miss his people. Not just Merle, who was their pack leader, or the strays they sometime picked up and made theirs for however long that lasted, but mostly someone who _understands_. He misses someone _like_ Merle, someone who isn’t afraid of his teeth and has enough strength and pride to pretend to be evenly matched with a mostly-grown werewolf. Memories of himself and the wolf wrap around each other in his mind, melting until he just remembers how Merle was loud and strong for a human and how he always fought dirty. The wrestling matches that started out as two brothers in the living room until Merle would drag him outside by his nape and throw him into the dust, a challenge in those blue eyes.

And then Daryl would shift and pounce and tear and bite and snarl.

And his brother would kick and punch and scream and laugh.

Of course, the wolf would always bite like how he would bite a cub, with covered teeth and gentle nibbles, but Merle never pulled his punches because those hardly ever hurt Daryl in that skin and so it still felt like a real fight.

They’d liked that. Sometimes it was just a way to drain some nervous energy, or to remind themselves of their bond and hierarchy. Other times it was because a job had gone wrong and they both needed to vent their frustration.

He misses how natural their bond was. Human and werewolf. How Merle wouldn’t even blink when he spotted the large wolf in their house, how he would just run a hand over Daryl’s head, pull at one of his ears teasingly before walking towards the fridge to grab a beer. How they would curl up on the couch together and watch bad television, the wolf growling whenever Merle switched to another channel and the human swatting at the animal’s head lazily, or wrapping a strong hand around their snout and pushing their mouth shut to stop the angry sound. Fingers dangerously close to incredibly large teeth. He even misses how Merle would scream at him, even when he was shifted into his wilder skin, threatening to bring hell down on his little brother and unafraid of the golden eyes before him.

He misses that closeness of a pack member who isn’t _scared_.

‘Do you want me to talk to Rick?’

‘No,’ Daryl snaps. ‘Stop stickin’ your nose in.’

Hershel nods. But he can’t help himself. ‘Don’t hide from us.’

‘Ain’t.’

‘Are you sure?’ the farmer asks when he gets up again. ‘Because you haven’t teased Glenn with your teeth in over a month now.’

Daryl snorts. ‘China-man should be glad.’

‘He is,’ Hershel answers with a small smile. ‘But if you’d have done it more often, he would have gotten used to them. Goodnight, Daryl. Try to get some sleep.’

The hunter grunts and listens to how Hershel makes his way back to the bedroom and settles in a bed somewhere. The rest of the group is still asleep, save for Maggie who starts another round.

Daryl sits there for a very long time. And then he makes up his mind.

He puts his bow near the door and strips. Before he shifts, he folds his clothes neatly and puts them in his pack, which he places next to his bow.

The wolf is almost startled to find himself in the house. It hasn’t been inside such a place for a long time and the animal chases familiar scents until Daryl gently takes charge again, leading him towards the back of the house. He makes sure their paws aren’t silent this time. Nails scratch on the floorboards, they pant as they push the door open and slip outside.

Maggie is there. She heard them coming and now stares at them with wide eyes.

The wolf knows her. She’s a friend, never an enemy. She’s the one who lets him smell her teeth as a greeting but still pushes them away when she has to laugh.

‘Hello, Daryl,’ she says cautiously, always unsure whether he is willing to listen to her.

The wolf lets his tongue loll out. Their breath is a white mist around their nose and mouth, drifting away and disappearing into the night. They don’t feel the cold.

‘I said I’d keep watch,’ Maggie says now.

The wolf rustle its pelt before padding over to where the girl is sitting for the moment. There’s a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. He sniffs at it before disregarding the strange smell of decay and warmth as something of the past. The girl still smells the same. A hint of the farm, of safety and sunshine but also of faded gunpowder and fire.

Daryl feels how the wolf settles into its own bones and drowns. His blue just a glimpse in their golden eyes.

‘Daryl?’ Maggie asks, fear bleeding into the words as she watches how he slips away from her.

The wolf huffs, pads around on the porch and thinks about hunting, about bolting away and pretending to never come back to this place. Of course they don’t. Instead they slink over to where the girl is sitting and pretend not to notice that her hand is on her knife.

Daryl soothes the wolf with stories about the moon, how the steel of the blade is the same color as their lover high in the sky. The wolf sulks a bit, as it always does because they share a soul but not hearts. The wolf loves in vicious ways, in blood and claws, in teeth, it loves in pain and moonlight but Daryl knows love in words and gentle kisses to their forehead. Sometimes, though, the words hurt just enough for the wolf to be able to pretend that they’re sharp as knives and spat in moonlight.

The wolf lets the man ease their minds. They relax and sink to the floor, laying on their side and letting their ear flick lazily.

Maggie watches them.

Golden eyes watch her.

After a couple of minutes, Maggie moves closer to them. With baited breath and a stuttering heart, but she moves closer.

The wolf closes its eyes and pretends to sleep. It circles the human in their own chest, that fragile soul that sometimes feels just like a little cub inside of them while they are their own moon any other time. He loves Daryl, more than he loves the woods or the pack lands or the moon itself, even. He loves him in that violent way of his.

So when Maggie slowly reaches out with her empty hand, fingers trembling but smelling of gunpowder, the wolf opens its golden eyes to show that he will not be fooled. He cannot be surprised by humans. They’re too slow and too weak and too…

Daryl dreams inside their chest. Of home, of the road, of their new group.

And Maggie’s fingertips brush over his ear.

It reminds the wolf of Merle, who always made that gesture hurt a little by twisting the sensitive skin, squeezing it between his fingertips and they would always let him because they were brothers and pack and blood.

But this doesn’t hurt. The wolf flicks his eyes because it even tickles a little.

Maggie draws her hand back like he just snapped at it.

The wolf whines.

The girl stares at him. And then reaches out again, a little bolder this time. A flat hand against the side of his face, brushing down his neck. ‘Lori was right. You put out heat like a stove.’

The wolf closes his eyes and settles down even though it doesn’t understand what the girl had been saying.

‘Is it okay if….’

The wolf ignores her.

She puts both hands on his neck. Cold fingers dig deep into their fur.

He growls in the back of his throat.

‘Please, Daryl,’ she whispers.

But Daryl is asleep. The wolf cracks one eye open again, pure gold looking at the girl.

And he lets her warm her hands while he sleeps together with the human inside of his chest, relieved by knowing that Daryl is finally getting some rest. Every once in a while he wakes up because Maggie gets up to walk her rounds.

Every time he gets up too, following her silently, a deadly shadow with pure golden eyes.

 

‘You’re not going to shift back?’

Daryl stretches and yawns.

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Maggie laughs at him. She’s tired from watch duty but her eyes still sparkle . It’s morning now. Sunlight is creeping over the horizon and inside the house people are getting ready to move on again.

T-dog relieves them from their watch duty and tells them to pack their stuff up.

‘Does this mean I get to have the great honor of carrying your bow to the car?’

Daryl stops abruptly. The wolf awaits his answer patiently.

They huff.

‘Why, thank you,’ the girl smiles. ‘I’m honored.’

They pass Rick. And Carl. And Lori.

Daryl makes sure to duck his head a little when he passes the cop but ignores the rest of the family. At least, he tries to because even though the wolf pretends to be so much better than pesky humans, the animals is spooked when a small hand suddenly brushes over his broad back. The wolf spins around, teeth bared in a silent snarl before he realizes that Carl is the one that looks guilty.

‘Sorry,’ the boy says quickly, backing up against the wall behind him. ‘I just wanted to feel your coat!’

‘Carl,’ Lori clears her throat and looks anywhere but at Daryl. ‘That’s rude. You wouldn’t touch Daryl like that in his… his… when he’s human.’

‘I said I was sorry.’

‘I know, but Daryl is not-‘

The wolf ruffles his pelt and then trots forward to lick at Carl’s fingertips before reclaiming his spot at Maggie’s side. He leans into her frame.

The girl looks down at him and then strokes his head. ‘Come on, let’s go find some breakfast.’

Daryl follows her.

He can feel Rick’s gaze burn on his back.

 

 

 


End file.
